Airing Out Laundry
by gumcrunch
Summary: Coulson's washer schedule gets messed up. Also, the dryer is broken. [TEAM STORY]


Filler story while I decide to wrap my brain around writing something that is actually useful. And I wanted an excuse for them to exchange clothes, too.

* * *

They were granted that Sunday for relaxation at The Sandbox. Fitting after a week of intense missions, the Bus took a peaceful break at an unspecified desert location, resting its engines and getting refueled for their next ride. All of them agreed they could have settled somewhere more fun and less… parched. But at this point in time, they were pretty happy to just get a day off of work and indulge in more mundane activities, to be able to attend to personal duties and enjoy the quiet. Until someone screamed from the laundry area.

"Fitz, what the hell?!"

Skye stormed into the room, sliding the door with all the strength her right arm could muster, eyes wide with rage. Both her hands were entangled around what seemed to be a collection of assorted ladies' delicates, sloppy pink in color with an extra faint splash of greenish black.

Fitz's hands slipped from his hamper in shock, a couple of his pajamas rolling out of the container. He stared at an absolutely livid Skye, terrified as she approached him.

From the other room, Simmons jumped from her bed in surprise as well, dropping the used shirts and unmentionables on her lap that she was sorting to the floor. She rushed to Fitz's bunk and, as gently as she could, grabbed Skye's shoulder before she was completely in the other scientist's face.

"Skye, what's the mat—"

Jemma was effectively ignored by the girl, who carried on screaming at the shocked and confounded Fitz.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What—what did I do?!" he matched her volume, already too confused to think of how to properly respond. He darted his eyes around the room in a state of panic, trying to determine in his mind what he could have possibly done to her.

"Look at this!" Skye raised both fistfuls of underwear to his face, hands shaking in anger.

Fitz gasped, and shut his eyes tightly while grabbing onto Simmons's shoulder for a bit of support.

"Look at this! Look at what you did, Fitz! You did this!"

Jemma gently pushed Skye's arms away, trying to ease the conflict with a nervous smile. She took a half-step forward to block her from going any further and possibly physically attacking Fitz.

"Now, now, Skye. Let's just calm down and—and try to think abou—"

"Do you know I don't have any decent underwear left because of you?! What, were you blindfolded while doing laundry?! You just waltzed in there and decided to drop your boxers down every random washer?!" Skye tried to reach out at the scientist, but she couldn't quite get past Simmons. "It's bad enough that the dryer's broken, and why does it seem like I am the only one who follows Coulson's stupid two-and-a-half-hour washer schedule?!" she ranted, emptying her lungs out of breath.

"Okay, first of all…" Fitz turned his head towards her, his nose wrinkled and his eyes still closed tight. "...I follow Coulson's stupid two-and-a-half-hour washer schedule. I barely have any clean clothes left except for my shirts. And—and we have two washers! How are you so sure all of this is _my_ fault?"

"Because no one else on this plane has kilts for underwear but you!"

She pulled a mangled piece of pinkish cloth from her jeans' back pocket, torn to about half its original size and the pattern on it barely distinguishable. Fitz grew numb with outrage when he opened his eyes, and Simmons turned pallid knowing his inevitable reaction.

"My lost kilt boxers. You destroyed my lost kilt boxers," his voice started low and quiet, like a whisper, as he took his underwear from Skye and seemingly cradled it in his palms. "You. Destroyed. My. Kilt. BOXERS!"

The room erupted. Two voices screaming profanities and accusations at each other, and another one screaming 'Quiet!' and 'Calm down' repeatedly.

Coulson appeared in the doorway with May in tow, who was clutching the night-night gun firmly in her hand, her face visibly expressing she was ready to tranq all three of them to shut up. Fitz and Simmons promptly bit their tongues as soon as they caught sight of the other two, and Skye spun around, instantly hiding her underwear behind her back when she realized who had quieted them down.

Coulson had a faint, but creepily intimidating smile on his face, while May stared them down.

"The washer schedule is not in effect today. I believe this…" he raised a machine-mauled, pinkish, seemingly plaid piece of cloth in front of them. The other half of Fitz's kilt boxers. "…got caught in one of the machines yesterday. And this…" he raised a gold-encrusted pen with his other hand.

Jemma gasped. Coulson looked at her, face unreadable.

"…got caught in the other."

She reached out and took the pen from Coulson's hand sheepishly, mouthing 'sorry.'

"So," the man continued, "I am wearing a shirt from yesterday because it's the cleanest I have left, and about eight ones with at least one prominent blotch of ink sitting in the laundry room."

"I would guessing this entire thing is all mine and… Fitz's fault," Simmons said blushingly, avoiding their eyes.

"Well, in my case, it was the machine's fault," Fitz muttered to her under his breath.

"Not entirely," May ignored him whispering and responded to Simmons, "we also found out who was responsible for the broken dryer."

Ward was halfway through passing the room to go to the laundry area, red and sweaty from a workout, and carrying two hampers full of more perspiration-soiled shirts. Everyone's heads turned towards him and he stopped in his tracks.

"What?" he looked at them all, confused.

"We found these bottle caps in your pants pockets in the dryer, Ward," Coulson opened his palm to reveal the small metallic things, most of them already deformed. "Seriously? What are you, twelve years old?"

Ward clenched his jaw and hung his head, embarrassed. "Right, er—sorry, sir."

"Given this situation, I would trust you to figure out how to share two washers between… well… all of us-"

May exhaled audibly, very much annoyed. Her suit was covered with grease stains from the day's routine plane check-up and the last clean clothes in her dressers is one set of underwear.

"—and find a way to dry our clothes while fixing the dryer."

* * *

"There we are," Simmons smiled as she finished hanging the last piece of clothing on the makeshift clothesline.

Ward and Fitz winced. The laundry room looked like a Mexican fiesta gone very wrong, with an assortment of dripping clothes and underwear for _banderitas_. The two of them went back to hiding behind the dryer and fiddling with the parts, trying to fix it.

"Wrench," Fitz nudged Ward, who nodded to Skye, who paid him no attention and walked towards Jemma.

"Great job," Skye grinned at Simmons.

"Thanks, Skye. And I must say, I never really quite understood flannel before now. It's quite comfortable, isn't it? No wonder you have a lot of these in your wardrobe. Thank you."

"Oh, don't mention it," Skye patted her lightly on the shoulder. "This shirt looks really good on you."

Simmons beamed. "Yes, I think it really does. And how are you liking May's underwear?"

Ward tried so hard to suppress a reaction.

"It's a little smaller than my size, but it's really comfortable. And sexy. I feel badass," the two girls giggled. "I feel like a badass May in lace."

Ward wanted so much to scream.

"How's the dryer?" Coulson walked into the room, his chest just about ready to burst from Fitz's printed oxford shirt.

Jemma and Skye stared at him, half-because-it's-weird-to-see-him-out-of-a-suit and half-because-it-looks-awkward-but-really-good-on-him.

"It's… almost done, sir," Fitz spoke behind the dryer. "Ward, take over. I need to pee."

He stood up, pulling the pajamas Ward lent him up to his chest so he would not trip on the hem, and gathered all of his dignity as he hobbled to the bathroom like a penguin.

"But—but, I don't… Fitz!" Ward stood up and called over to him, without the slightest idea what to do next. Fitz had not exactly been following the manual.

"He'll be back in a second, Cap," Skye eyed the Captain America shirt Ward had on. It was about a size smaller than his normal shirts but she thought it fit him just right. Ward smirked at her.

"Thanks."

"You don't get to keep it," Coulson cut in, squashing Ward's intentions before he could even start.

"It's fascinating. You can pretty much deduce our personalities just by looking at this," Simmons gaped at the clothesline collection.

Everyone in the room nodded silently, looking at the clothesline as well.

"You would certainly know which ones are May's," Skye pointed at the collection of everything black at the far left side of the room. "Hey, where _is _May?" she nudged Coulson.

"In the cockpit."

"Well, whose clothes is she wearing?" she smiled suggestively.

"Yeah, because I don't recall her borrowing from me or… anyone," Jemma raised her eyebrows at Skye, and then at Coulson.

"Don't bother," Coulson said and turned to leave the room. "May only wears black—"

His voice trailed off as he walked away. "—or nothing at all."


End file.
